


Cherry Wine

by SnowF



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: (No but seriously, Alcoholic!Will Graham, Betrayal, Escapes, Every tags that go with Hannibal Lecter), F/M, Murder Couples, murders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowF/pseuds/SnowF
Summary: Some birds are meant to be caged, and those birds are meant to die. She was never one of them. The FBI didn't understand it, not before it was too late. They only knew how to cage her. But bars were never enough to hold her down. So off her cage she shall fly, with the only other bird that ever understood her.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : All rights belong to their owner.
> 
> Spoilers : This fiction evokes some events of the whole series of books.
> 
> Rating : T, for strong language and situations.
> 
> A/N : Andrea's character is a personal building. Quite contrary to some of my other texts, I'm not here following the events of the books but drawing on some of them to create my own story. The updates may be a bit more erratic than my other fictions. This fiction will switch between "present" and "past" chapters, so don't be surprised.  
> Anyway, as my mother language is (still) not English, I may or may not do spelling/grammar/conjugation/syntax mistakes, and I'm sorry if it disturbs you too much. I wish you a great reading, feel free to comment at any time !

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

**I**

When she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. It wasn't really surprising : it has been months she was there, and nothing ever changed. More precisely, four months and five days. It wasn't out of genius that she knew that. She only managed to keep up to date thanks to the newspaper she could get hands on. Most of the time, it was the prison guards that gave her theirs, once their day was over.

And it was almost funny to see that even outside, nothing changed. There were as many murders – it was just not the same people who committed them. And although they had dozen of murderers to catch, the FBI still desperately attempted to get her to spit the location of one of them. _As if I knew where he is,_ she thought, staring blankly at the roof.

Within five minutes, if the clock in the corridor were to be trusted, Will Graham would come. He would sit on the folding chair leaning on the wall. He would cross his arms and wait approximately two more minutes before asking the same question over again. She would then sat in front of him, on the edge of what was called her bed. She would make some general remark on yesterday's weather, or on the TV programs, depending on what kind of newspaper she had read. He would lose patience. He would leave, promising that she wouldn't get away with it this easily. And she would come back to her reading of the day's newspaper.

At least, it's how things would go if nothing changed. When she heard Jack Crawford's powerful voice, at the other end of the corridor, she guessed that no, things wouldn't go like this. She sat and waited for him to come closer, cross-legged on her mattress. _Or whatever bears that name, anyway._

He had aged. At least, he looked like he had aged. He had huge dark-circles under the eyes and he seemed to struggle only to bear the folding chair. He only granted her a gaze once he was sitting and once he'd gotten rid of his trench coat.

Back then, an eternity before, this man had been some kind of a mentor. A man she looked up to like a student her professor. He had shaped her the way he imagined a great investigator to be – obedient but incisive, bright but submissive. But another man destroyed this pretty working and reinvented her. She had evolved. She had adapted.

"Hello, Jack," she greeted him with a raspy voice. She didn't really have the opportunity to use it. "I almost thought you would never come.

\- I'd rather not have come.

\- You're vexing me."

She shrugged. He didn't react. _Was he already this old, when I met him ?_ She couldn't remember. It'd been so long, since the time she taught at the University of Bristol. And it'd been even longer since the day he came to her and asked if she wanted to be part of his team, in Baltimore. Why had she accepted, by the way ? _Pride_ , a voice she hadn't heard since four months and five days whispered. She couldn't help but smile.

From the beginning, it hadn't been a good idea. He needed a strong team to find the Chesapeake Ripper – hiring a French should have looked like a great idea, given the guy's supposed genealogy. Hiring an international law specialist should have looked like an even greatest idea, given his tendency to strike everyone. But accepting, that wasn't a good idea. She knew it, but it hadn't stopped her from doing it.

"Why are you here, dear Jack, if you don't want to be here ?

\- 'Cause a part of me still believes you're redeemable.

\- Not the most lucid part," she laughed. "Do you really think you'll manage to do what you little protégé fails to do almost daily ?

\- No. But I think I can succeed where I failed."

She narrowed her eyes. She wasn't an empath, contrary to Will, and she wasn't a psychiatrist like Lecter. She wasn't able to guess what people thought. That being said, she had passed enough time around these two to be able to decrypt those people's reactions.

But she didn't need all that to feel all the regret and remorse in his voice. She could have softened herself and eased his existence. But it was partly his fault if she was there : having remorse was the least he could feel toward her.

"You're going to have be a more specific, you have failed to do plenty of things.

\- To protect you," he answered without reacting. "I failed to protect, Will and you. This time…

\- This time, what ? You want to get me out of here ? Give me my freedom back ?" She burst into laughter. "Oh, Jack. You should take time off, you desperately need it.

\- You… You don't know ?"

She frowned and shook her head. She had no idea what she didn't know, but it seems that he came specifically because of this thing she didn't know. _Well, well. What is going on in the FBI ?_

Had he been fired ? That could mean plenty of things, for her. And for him. Maybe she would never see him again and it was his very last try to catch Lecter ? If it was the case, well, it was a failure. Maybe all the team was dismantled and Will was giving up ? A good thing. He was perhaps the only agent in this god-forsaken agency capable of finding Hannibal.

"I'm not going to beg you to tell me, if that's what you're waiting for," she sighed. "I can survive without knowing your plans.

\- These are not mine, they're Will's.

\- And what does Will want ?

\- To transfer you. In Pelican Bay."

Her smile froze and she spotted drumming her fingers on her knee. As a jurist the slightest bit interested in humanitarian questions, she knew the State Prison of Pelican Bay. But she had a slightly more advanced knowledge of it thanks to the FBI, and it wasn't for the best.

It wasn't a woman's prison. That was all she could think about, for some seconds. And that's all she said to Crawford. He looked dumbfounded to hear that remark.

"Indeed," he said, slowly. "But it's also…

\- The prison in which the majority of the guys we arrested are locked up.

\- Will wants to transfer you, once he would have proven you're mentally sane." He gulped. Hardly. "The State Attorney already gave his consent."

She couldn't help but laugh, again. Among every beings on this planet, it was _William Graham_ who couldn't stand her and lost it. _Hannibal would be proud,_ she thought, shaking her head. Oh, she knew what that transfer meant. She was well-treated, here : it was more or less a psychiatric hospital, they treated prisoners like patients.

There, she would just be a monster amongst others. A monster responsible for a _great_ number of arrests that led a _great_ number of men behind this prison's bars. It wasn't complicated : Will wanted to turn the screws on her and make her speak. He had just unknot the sword of Damocles above her head and threatened her to cut the last noose. But he hadn't taken into account the most obvious element.

"There's nothing funny, Andrea. You're going to…

\- Die there, most probably." She smiled even more. "Oh, Jack. But I'm not scared of death.

\- There's still a way. If you talk, I can help you.

\- If I tell you where Lecter is, you'll free me ?"

He nodded. There was so much sincerity in the way he was staring at her, so much naivety. It clashed with his age, with his face's gravity. She kept quiet and stared back at length. He really believed it. And he still believed he had a chance, and perhaps it was the worst.

She stood up and got closer to the pane that separated them. She sat in front of him, on the cold ground of her cell. He came closer as well, unnoticed. He really believed she was going to talk. A hazy feeling of sadness invaded her spirit for a second, just enough for her to realize how pathetic the scene was.

"You would free a murderer ?

\- You didn't…

\- You don't know. You want to believe the only thing I did was following him." She shook her head. "Wishful thinking.

\- You're not like him, you've never been. How could you have let him change you ?

\- Let _him ?_ "

This time, her laugh was so enthusiastic that it echoed all around her and reverberated on the four walls of her cell. She could almost feel Crawford's shivering of awe. His pupils were narrowing. _He's scared._ As if she could do anything, in her plastic and concrete cage.

But it was hilarious, really, how he could think he was above any guilt. How he held Hannibal responsible of absolutely everything that happened to her and everything that happened to Will before her. As if he couldn't stand any pitch of guilt.

"So you still haven't learn," she sighed, almost admiring. "You have the most stunning ability to lie to yourself, Jack.

\- I'm not responsible for what happened to Will, and I'm not responsible for what you became.

You're responsible for absolutely everything that happened since I joined the FBI. _You_ introduced me to Hannibal. _You_ asked me to interrogate him, once Will finally caught him. _You_ let Will take care of Dolarhyde. _You_ let me fall into Hannibal's claws. _You_ never did anything to prevent anything from happening." She stood again to face him, her thinner body motionless. "So you can have regrets, Jack, that's the least you can do. But I'm not helping you ease your conscience."

A tiny voice in her head was angered that she was rejecting the proposal of the last man inside the FBI that still cared about her, but she quieted it. She wasn't an agent anymore, she wasn't an investigator. He wasn't her superior, she wasn't his subordinate. This chapter was over.

She had turned the page the day she almost died to prevent Hannibal, on the run back then, from being caught. When she literally threw herself between him and the FBI's bullets – when she let him take her with him. What followed belonged to another chapter she preciously kept hidden in her memory, where no one would steal or taint it.

"So go, and tell our dear Will that he can send me to Guantanamo that it wouldn't change a thing. And go on vacation, Jack.

\- Andrea…

\- Farewell, agent Crawford." She slightly smiled and waited for him to have stood up to add. "Give Bella my regards."

He froze for a couple of seconds, as if shot, before going on with his gestures. He fled quickly. Her eyes followed him and she went back on her bed. _So I'm going to die._ The idea seemed weird. Almost surreal. All these months of run away almost had her lost conscience of her mortality. It wasn't painful, just unpleasant. Like a wound she would have forgotten since years and that would remind her of its existence just now.

Still, she always had a sharp conscience of her existence's fragility, conscience which hadn't ceased to grow until she actually came close to death. Since then, it was like the burden of mortality had lifted, that she had freed herself from this fear by almost dying. Automatically, she touched the scar on her abdomen. It wasn't painful either. Nothing was painful anymore.

She crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Her life's book had numerous chapters. Every each one of them ended on a death. She knew these chapters by heart : the first one ended with her family's death. The second one, with her colleague's death, in Bristol. The third one, with Dolarhyde's death. The fourth, with hers – at least, with what could have been hers. The fifth… Would it end on her second death ?

She vaguely smiled and collapsed on the mattress. She wasn't going to sleep. She had too many things to remember before going to Pelican Bay. It was the only place she could find Hannibal : in her memory place he helped her build.


	2. 1

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

**1**

Waking up was an ordeal. It was like trying to get out some sort of a oil slick made of clay, mud, everything that could be heavy and stifling. Opening her eyes was a success ; managing to straighten up her head, a master piece. It had taken her at least five minutes to get to that result.

And there was her belly. She didn't feel it. To be honest, she didn't feel much thing. She wouldn't have been able to identify the fabric on which she was lying nor the one that covered her. She wouldn't have been able to identify the smell that floated around either, even if she guessed it was some kind of antiseptic. The roof above her was finely crafted. A bit too much, for what she believed to be a hospital room.

"You're awake."

This remark sounded like a gong to her ears and she tensed. There was a hissing – a door, probably, and the voice's owner appeared. She recognized him. She couldn't move, so she didn't try to do it. The man stared at with an impressing seriousness.

But he didn't impress her. She was used to this seriousness. She gulped with difficulty and frowned. That also was an ordeal. He moved a glass of water in which a straw was sitting to her lips. Vaguely humiliated but with a so terribly dry throat, she drunk. It took her several tries, she almost choked almost as many times as she actually managed to swallow water, but he persevered until he considered she had had enough.

"The bullet that penetrated your abdomen has been taken out," he said with a really gentle voice. He put the glass back on the table and, with the corner of a towel, he wiped the water of her cheeks. "You have lost blood.

\- How…" She croaked more than she talked. That also was difficult. "Many…

\- Don't worry about that for now. Can you read that ? Don't speak, blink two times to say yes, one time to say no."

She lowered her eyes on the paper he held in front of her. It was a quote. She recognized it immediately. _La lune blanche luit dans les bois ; de chaque branche par une voix sous la ramée. L'étang reflète, profond miroir, la silhouette du saule noir où le vent pleure. Un vaste et tendre apaisement semble descendre du firmament que l'astre irise. O bien aimé, rêvons c'est l'heure, c'est l'heure exquise._ Verlaine.

She made him read this poem, back when their conversation were those they had through his pane's cell. She had given him a copy of the poem on butcher paper, among other sheets he was authorized to use to draw. _It's the copy, actually,_ she realized when she saw the sheet folding. She blinked two times, slowly.

"Est-ce que vous comprenez clairement ce que je vous dis ?" She blinked two times. "We're going to make a test. From now on, you only blink once to say yes. Understood ?" Blink. "Good. Do you remember what happened ?" Hesitation. Blink. "Vaguely ?" Blink. "You remember who I am ?" Blink. Fast. Vague smile. "Good. You remember who you are ?"

She blinked. He nodded and wrote something on a paper sheet before touching her drip that went directly in her arms. _Ah, the smell… It's morphine._ That's why she didn't feel anything. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. He seemed to be quiet well and in a good mood, for someone escaping FBI.

_I'm escaping it too,_ she realized a few seconds later. A sudden panic went through her and she felt her heart going mad. She struggled to keep her eyes opened and he had to tell her to calm down for her to come back. She was escaping the FBI. What did she do ? She had betrayed them for… For… Him ? To protect his life ? It wasn't worth it. Eyes wide open, she stared at him when he bended to her. For a moment, a very short moment, she wondered if she was going to die, this time. But he just put his head on her chest, where her heart was.

"Don't take it personally, Andrea, I've put way too much time trying to keep you alive to see you die of a stroke.

\- You…

\- I know your mouth is your greatest weapon," he smiled while standing up again. "But don't speak. Get some rest.

\- Why…" She winced. Every word was a struggle and her throat was a battlefield. "Why ?"

There was a long silent. Her voice was raspy, as if her vocals cords had been ripped apart, but she knew she was understandable. And she was certain that he had understood her. But he didn't answer, at least not before a great length of time. His dark eyes hadn't left hers. She had lived through this way too many times to be impressed. He didn't want to answer.

And he would not answer. And if he did, it would be by some convoluted way to make her understand he would not answer. It was always like that when she got too close to him. The contrary was also true.

"You asked me to get you out of there," he finally answered. "I did it." She shoo her heard very slowly – a surreal ordeal. "If your question was rather to know why you asked me to do such a thing, I regret but I still don't know the answer." He caressed her cheek with one of his light, cold fingers and disappeared. "Have some rest, Andrea."

Her eyes tried to follow him before hearing the door's hissing and the _click_ of the lock. She closed her eyes. A tear went down her face. She didn't know if it was because she was worn-out, sad or terrified. She wasn't even sure it was one of the three. _I'm at his mercy. He could do anything with me._

Yes, he could, but he didn't. Crawford never believed her when she said she didn't risk anything with him – and he was right, given the circumstances. She wasn't so sure she ever really believed this statement. It was an arrogant way to remind him she was the only person able to approach Hannibal Lecter and talk to him more than a few minutes.

But now she was there, stuck on this bed, surrounded by all these drips, weak to the point of not being able to speak and the only person around was no other than _him._ And instead of feeling threatened, terrified, she was _ashamed_ to be this fragile in front of him. _He will never do me any harm,_ she thought. _At least not when I'm this weak._ She gulped and couldn't help but smile to the idea that the only place she could be safe was there, under the surveillance of the man she had tried to understand for months.

The same man she had helped to escape and to survive, to the sacrifice of her own survival. This idea, however, terrified her. She had fallen into his trap in an incredibly wrier way than Will Graham back then or anyone else. And this idea haunted her until she finally fell into this coma-sleep she was drowning in since weeks.


	3. II

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

**II**

"I was starting to get worried, Will, you're two days late."

She smiled, lying on her mattress. She only turned her head when she heard the chair's characteristic scraping. Will Graham. Jack Crawford's best asset. _Or rather, former best asset._ Since Dolarhyde, there was nothing in him that could be named an asset. He used to be smart ; he was now a maniac. He used to be a decent guy ; he was now constantly in a blind rage against everything that was even distantly related to Lecter. He used to be healthy ; he was now an alcoholic. She suspected him to be addicted to some pain-killer as well, seeing how his hands were shaking. _Or maybe he's just stressing out._

And he used to be handsome. What remained of his face now looked like some sick and incomplete jigsaw. One of his eyes was punctured and had been replaced by a glass globe that looked remotely like his original one… But not quite. It gave his gaze this terrifying side she just began to get used to. He used to have those two gentle blue eyes ; now only one, and the way it stared at her would have given goose bumps to anyone but her.

And the two of them used to be a thing. They weren't exactly together, but they weren't apart either. They weren't a couple, but they were more than fuck buddies. Even after what happened between him and Hannibal, the first time, when he managed to get him arrested and almost died in the process, there was something between them. None of them ever bothered to give this something a name. And when she started to wonder what it was, it was already gone.

If ever she'd had any doubts about it, looking at Will was enough to be rather sure. She couldn't remember any occasion on which he had looked at anyone or anything like that ; as if she was some kind of a plague, some disgusting critter.

"Jack told me about your little plans. If you wanted to take me on vacation, you could have asked. Pelican Bay wouldn't have been my first choice, but why not ? I miss the sun anyway.

\- I don't think you're going to see it ever again," his raspy voice replied, sharply. "That's enough of your games, Andrea. Either you talk or we let you die there.

\- We ? But who's we ? You, and your dear State Attorney ? What's his name, anyway ?"

She titled her head and smiled again. Will didn't, obviously. He wasn't actually the only man who came to her and tried to make her speak. Dr Alan Bloom, one of her former colleagues and one of the many psychiatrists who tried to profile Hannibal and absolutely didn't understand why he was so talkative with her and not with them, used to come. He stopped when she reminded him Hannibal and she knew where his beloved daughter lived with her husband and infant child. Idle threat, in truth : she didn't want to threaten the girl and her family's lives. She just wanted to be left alone from him and his stupid questionnaire.

But Will didn't fear her. He had no one. His life was no longer a life. Death would be gift, a blessing more than a curse to him. So, gradually, he became the only one who ever visited her. The first time, he wasn't so confident. He still thought that maybe she'd been abused – kidnapped and the liking. _Well, he quickly realized there was no use of such wishful thinking._

"Don't think it's my decision only. The psychological team thinks that…

\- I need to be killed in order for you to find Lecter." She laughed. Cruelly. "You used to be a little bit more insightful, Will. This is a poor reasoning.

\- They believed you were going to speak.

\- And what do you believe ?"

A lingering silent answered. He frowned – or she guessed he did. It wasn't like he really had eyebrows anymore. He probably wasn't used to this kind of conversation anymore – they hadn't talked this much since two months, at least. Most of the time, she just stared at him, waiting for him to lose it and scream. But he didn't look angry. He looked tired. _Then there's still some of his old self in this broken body._ But he didn't look any less convinced of his decision.

"I believe you're not going to talk.

\- So you just want me dead, then," she retorted. _And I'm not even surprised anymore._ "Hannibal would be so proud.

\- You chose this the day you chose him.

\- Are you jealous, Will ?

\- No. Because to me, you're already dead. I already grieved."

The coldness in his voice almost sent shivers down her spine. Hannibal Lecter had changed them. She sometimes thought it was for the best ; she felt powerful, more powerful than ever even in front of her more-than-likely future murderer. But when it came to Will… Hannibal had transformed her. He had shaped her. But he hadn't broken her – he had broken Will. Ruined him. Left him in this state, this semi-madness, semi-life. This, more than his coldness, was terrifying. _Hannibal Lecter is able to do that._

"Why are you here, if you're so willing to have me dead ? I'm not going to beg for my life.

\- I know. But I wanted to see you one last time." He shook his head, slowly. "To see if there was still some things of the woman I loved in you.

\- Then I hope you're happy with what you see.

\- No, I'm not. Things could have been so different."

_Yes, they could have._ She could have left Hannibal to the FBI forces. She would most probably be in the same room, but on the other side of the pane. She would probably speak to someone, but this someone would be Lecter. And she would probably still die, but not by the same hand.

But in any case, what they had was gone since even before her escape with Hannibal. It was gone since the day he opened his eyes, in his hospital room, after Dolarhyde. But since none of them had ever wanted to acknowledge what used to be, none of them wanted to realize that it was no more.

"Not between us, Will. If I'm dead to you since my escape, then you're dead to me since Dolarhyde. Will Graham died that day.

\- So Hannibal killed both of us. How convenient.

\- You let him kill you. He didn't want you to die.

\- No, he wanted me to become a murderer," he replied. "Just like he wanted you to become one."

She didn't answer. She stared back. Blankly. There was nothing she could say. Maybe what he meant was right – maybe he would have destroyed her as he destroyed Will if she hadn't been compliant with his wills. Maybe not. How would she know ? Will sighed and shook his head again.

"I wish we never met him. And I wish you didn't let him enter your mind.

\- And I wish you never became the monster you've been trying so bad not to become.

\- You're not him," he spat out. "You'll never be, no matter how hard you'll try.

\- And you're not a good guy. No matter how hard you try to make me believe you are."

He stood up. She didn't move. Why would have she ? She wouldn't have been able to go anywhere anyway. He walked closer to the pane and put his hand on the glass. She looked at this hand for a long time. But she didn't come. _I don't care about his regrets._ He wanted her dead ? Fine. But she wouldn't ease the idea. If she was to die, she was to die as she lived – against all odds. And all conventions.

"Hannibal often speaks about you. He hopes you're doing well.

\- I don't…

\- He's going to be so disappointed that you betrayed me. That you betrayed _him_ , again." She smiled. And closed her eyes. "Farewell, Will. We'll see each other again in the seventh circle."

He didn't answer. She heard his footsteps getting more and more distant and then nothing. Silent again. She gulped and tried to remember who Will used to be, before everything turned to a nightmare. There was a room, in her memory palace, tightly closed, where she had stored every single memories of him. She never let Hannibal access it – it was something he couldn't touch. It was something no one could touch. It belonged to the past. But it was how she wanted to remember him.


	4. 2

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

**2**

"So you think the Chesapeake ripper is… Among us ? Like, in the FBI ?

\- I don't  _think_  so. I'm sure he is." He sighed and threw the file at the other side of the room. "The worst thing is that I'm also sure that he is among our team."

She gulped. She ran a hand across her face and tried to make sense to what he just said. She was part of the team since a year, now, and they'd been searching for the ripper since… Well, even longer. And now, Will was  _sure_  that he was in the FBI, under their noses from the very beginning.

She was tired. Not only because she hadn't slept for two days – though it obviously influenced it, but she was also tired of  _all this._ She wanted it to stop, to be  _over._ She wanted vacations, she wanted to go back in Italy and visit Florence.  _Damn Dr Lecter,_ she thought. He was always speaking of Italy and there she was, craving a journey there.

"Will…

\- I know it sounds crazy.

\- Who do you think it would be ?" She frowned. "You must have an idea.

\- I'm not sure."

_He does have an idea._ She sighed. He wasn't going to say anything – or, rather, he wasn't going to let it out this easily. She collapsed on the couch, next to him, and turned to face him. He look tired as well, but it was common sense. Will Graham was  _always_ tired. Will Graham was  _never_  in a good shape. Will Graham was able to feel  _any_  emotions but simple happiness. It was the way he was. Lately, though, it was only getting worse.

But well. She wasn't exactly any better. She had gone from the pretty, joyful law professor to this worn-out, paranoiac investigator in a year.  _Thanks, Jack._ That could be something that would interest Dr Lecter. He who already saw her as a potential subject of study. She slightly smiled. He always said that both of them were anomalies on their own and that, together, they made such a strange mix that he didn't understand how they were still alive and, most importantly,  _alive together._

"Tell me already, Will, we're not here to…

\- It's Hannibal, Andrea.

\- What ?" she stammered. "What do you mean it's…

\- Hannibal is the ripper."

She almost burst out laughing. But he was so deadly serious that she couldn't. She was stuck in place. And staring, blankly. And he was staring at the wooden floor.  _Hannibal ?_ It didn't make sense. He… She…

Somehow, though, it made sense. Terribly. The way he always knew what happened – the way he was never surprised. And all the things he told them. All the things he made them do. She always thought it was his way of helping. Could it be that it was only some twisted game ? She gulped. They thought they were the chess players, moving their pawns and surrounding the ripper's – could it be that, since the very beginning,  _they were the pawns ?_

"It can't be, he's…

\- Driving us insane," he retorted. "Can't you see ? The things he tells us, the things he makes us do. It's alienating us from the rest of the FBI.

\- But no one…

\- That's the point. No one suspects him, except us. They think we're delusional. We're completely insulated and we're trapped."

She shivered.  _God it all makes sense._ It was all true. They'd been working mostly together so much lately, seldom with the rest of the team. The only other person they worked with was  _him._ And he was encouraging them to work together. And it was a vicious circle they never realised they were in in the first place.

And Jack didn't see anything either. A part of her couldn't see it just yet. Doctor Lecter was not… This was not the way she pictured the ripper.  _No… This is not the way he made me picture him._ She gritted her teeth. Was there anything true in the things she believed in ?

"How are we going to do this ?" she whispered, getting closer to Will. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "If they don't believe us…

\- Then we'll have to do it alone. You regroup all our evidences, and I arrest him.

\- But we don't have any evidence against him.

\- We do. We just need to read them… Differently."

She clung onto his shirt, almost without realising it. She needed to think straight – she needed to think about the case. She closed her eyes and tried to list every single things they knew about the ripper. He was medically skilled – so was Lecter.  _Not a proof. Dozen of doctors around._ He had a strong sense of art and refinement – so had Lecter.  _Not a proof. So have I._ He attacked around the area.  _Not a proof._ The organs he took from his victims were parts of recipes.  _That doesn't…_ She opened her eyes violently.

"His recipe book.

\- What ?

\- The ripper takes edible organs from his victims," she said, quickly. "You always said that it was to cook them, we deduced he's a cannibal.

\- And you think Hannibal would write this in a recipe book ?

\- Do you remember the day we ate this Japanese fish, with him ?"

It was an incredibly pleasant evening. The fish was delicious – beyond delicious, really. Hannibal was in the kitchen, preparing the desserts, and she was walking past his huge bookcase, searching for his cookbook to steal the recipe. She was joking about it with Will when Lecter came back with his plates, smiling. She had taken the book and was going to open it when he snatched it from her hands, swiftly.  _"A magician never reveals his tricks,_ " he said with a careful and somewhat icy gaze. She didn't insist. She just thought he didn't want people to copy him.  _Copy him._

"We need to get hold of this book," he said. " _You_  need to.

\- What is your plan ?

\- We are supposed to see him tomorrow, right ?" She nodded. "I'll talk to him. You'll pretend you have to… I don't know, go to the bathroom, and you take the book.

\- I make sure it's an evidence and I text you.

\- And I arrest him. Somehow."

_Trying not to get eviscerated,_ she thought. She shivered again and gulped. It was painful. Everything was painful, now that she had opened her eyes. She tried to say something but nothing came out of her mouth. So she just put her head on Will's shoulder. Tomorrow. _Maybe we'll die, tomorrow._ Maybe.

He took her hand in his and caressed it, lightly. It wasn't like them to be this cuddly. But she was scared, and so was he. He must have known since so much time, and he never told her about his doubts.  _He wanted to protect me from him,_ she thought.

"If I die tomorrow," she said when he kissed her forehead. "Can you…

\- We're not going to die.

\- It's Hannibal. It's the Ripper, Will.

\- And we're stronger than him." He caressed her cheek and kissed her. It was a deep, long kiss. It meant so many things – and at the same times, it only meant one.  _Fear._ "We opened our eyes when he wanted them sewed closed."

She smiled and held him close to her. She felt his warmness, his heartbeats against hers. She brushed his hair, clinging onto his shirt again, and kissed him again. And again. And again.

They made love on the couch, like two teenagers afraid that, soon, everything would end. It was hot, desperate. They made it last, but in the end, they lied together, intertwined, panting. She felt a tear running down her cheek when he fell asleep.  _Is it going to happen ever again ?_ She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, swiping away her tear and trying to believe that tomorrow would not be the end of their world.

_Poor us. We would soon know better._


	5. III

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

**III**

They came early in the morning. A way to unsettle her, perhaps. They surrounded her cell without even looking at her and waited for him to come.  _Him, the State Attorney._ And he was exactly the way she imagined a State Attorney  : stern, scornful, she could almost smell his disgust and his boredom from behind the pane.

She sat on the edge of her bed and tilted her head when he arrived. Black grey-ish hair, average eyes, average built.  _Hannibal would say that he's making up for his cruel lack of beauty._ And intelligence – smart people became lawyers, judges, not State Attorney.  _He looks like Chilton, doesn't he ?_ That could explain her instinctive repulsion.

"Professor Andrea Rochard," he greeted her with this fake smile that gave her the creeps. "Surely you know why we're here.

\- I haven't the slightest. Am I supposed to know you ?

\- I am John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland. I am here to discuss your transfer to the State Prison of Pelican Bay.

\- Discuss."

She smiled. He didn't react.  _He's been warned._ But he wouldn't resist for too long – she already knew how to make him lose it. Undermine his authority. Hurt his pride. Make fun of his job – his coat, maybe. He seemed quite content of his coat.  _It's too big for him. The guy doesn't know how to dress properly._ Lecter often told her that someone with off the peg or ill-adjusted clothes obviously had someone to hide. Often it was former poverty.

With his gleaming watch and his Brogues shoes – ugly, with that suit, it was obvious that he wasn't poor. But maybe he used to be. Or maybe he came from some new-money family. That could explain his total lack of fashion sense.

" _Discuss_ ," she repeated. "I don't think there's any room for negotiation, John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland. Will has been rather clear on the issue.

\- There is always room for negotiation. In your case, any new information leading to Hannibal Lecter's capture…

\- He would make quite a trophy, wouldn't he ?"

He gritted his teeth. Already. It wouldn't be that complicated, then. He turned to gesture one of his assistants to give him something – a file. It was hers. She could tell, she'd already seen it in many hands.  _Including Hannibal's._ And Jack's. And hers, of course, when she accepted to become part of the FBI. She knew what was inside. Her entire past. All the gruesome details.

And he was going to try to use it against her. It was a poor technic. She was pretty sure Will told him not to do it. But the guy didn't care ; who was a crazy psychic to tell  _him_ , the State Attorney of Maryland, what to do ? He knew his job, for Heaven's sake !  _Type of guys to say Heaven's sake, yes._ But she wasn't going to grant him the pleasure. She sighed.

"Andrea Louise Rochard," she reeled out. "Daughter of Marie Louise Rochard, née Turnaud and Patrick Francis Rochard, older sister of Thomas Jules Rochard. All of them dead in an arson non-elucidated. Graduated valedictorian of the law faculty of Paris, Sorbonne. Obtained a PhD with honours. Worked as a law professor for three years for the University of Bristol. Recruited by special agent Jack Crawford. Instrumental in the first capture of Hannibal Lecter. Spent almost a year profiling him for the FBI. Instrumental in the killing of Buffalo Bill.

\- Helped Hannibal Lecter to escape. Ran away with him for seven months. Still refuse to say a thing about him. Is to be sent to Pelican Bay, one of the hardest prison of the United States. Probability of survival : around ten per cent.

\- You have learned your lessons pretty well, John. Congratulations. Have I learnt mine as well ?"

He was fulminating now. She smiled. Politely. But he was a grown-up man and once again, he'd been warned. _Hannibal would have wiped the floor with this goon._ She, on the other hand, wanted to play a little bit. It was probably the last time she had the opportunity to talk to someone. The guys in Pelican Bay didn't count – they wouldn't understand a word of what she would say.

"I gather," he managed to say after a while. "That you are not willing to tell us anything.

\- You gather well, John. Will didn't tell me, when did you get appointed ? Was it after your predecessor's failure to keep Hannibal behind bars ?

\- It is none of your concerns, professor…

\- It is, since you're the one who encouraged William Graham's latest lunacy."

Without a word, he opened her file and took some pages out of it. He put them in the sliding food trail and pushed them in her direction. She stared at it for a while before she actually went to take it. It was an evaluation, signed by no one else than dear old Graham.  _Mine,_ she realised while reading it.

It wasn't the best profile he ever did, though. Many things were mere speculations, especially regarding the impact of her family's demise. She went through it quickly to see the result.  _As a conclusion, we would deem Andrea Rochard to be sane and fitted to a jail's regime._ Why of course. A proper psychiatrist would have picked holes in this so-called profile, but it was more than enough for a petty politician as John Mitchells, wasn't it ? He was so  _willing_  to pin her to his trophy cabinet.  _And of course, adding Hannibal Lecter would be a nice extra._

"This report is crystal-clear, professor Rochard.

\- This  _report_ ," she hooted with laughter. "You have no idea what you're talking about. This profile is bullshit. It says nothing.

\- It says enough for me.

_\- Of course_  it says enough for you."

Her smile grew twisted, as well as her mind. She wasn't going to let him think he won this round. She wasn't going to let them all think they won this round or any other. She looked against at the papers and, slowly, she tore them apart. And he stared at her, stupidly, as a pig would stare at the slaughterhouse before getting  _eviscerated._ When she threw all the tiny pieces of paper on the pane, he jumped.

She laughed. And walked closer to the pane. He stepped back. She walked even closer. He couldn't step back or he would walk on one of his bodyguard. Her eyes went from him to the said bodyguard. He looked older than the rest of the flock – a bit too old for this job. And too frail as well. His body wasn't so strong, but his eyes…  _These eyes…_ She frowned, which added to the Attorney's fear. She came back to him.

"Of course," she repeated. "It would say enough for a petty, ludicrous and incompetent State Attorney. Too bad you know nothing of the law, John Mitchells, because I know damn well that what you're doing is not legal.

\- You're a murderer."  _As if it justified anything._ "You're not going to get away with it thanks to your legal sham.

_\- Legal sham…_ The judges will  _adore_  that. What you're going to do will violate at least a dozen of international treaties and your fucking Constitution. Not that you American care anyway." She laughed. The bodyguard's eyes were gleaming with…  _Pride ?_ "I just need a good lawyer and I'm going to go as free as a bird.

\- Some birds are meant to be caged."

She didn't say a word, properly shocked. The bodyguard had talked –  _his voice !_ She blinked, startled. John Mitchells apparently didn't notice – he was as startled as her. Not really by the impromptu intervention of one of his men, though, but rather by her. But she didn't care. She couldn't care less.

She exchanged a gaze with the bodyguard.  _You sneaky bastard. I've recognized you._ She had recognized him even before his intervention but she didn't want to believe it.  _Certains oiseaux ne peuvent être mis en cage._ It was the original quote, said as they were eating on a terrace in Saint Petersburg. She was asking him what he would do if ever the FBI managed to get hold of him.  _Je n'y retournerai jamais._ Little did he know that  _she_ would go there in place of him. Little did she know as well. She gulped. She saw his eyes narrowing.  _He's smiling._

"Those birds are meant to die. I am not.

\- You are," the Attorney spat out, breaking the spell  _he_  had cast on her. "And you're going to.

\- Listen to me you little pompous imbecile. You're playing a game but do you even know its rules ?" She came even closer to the pane, staring directly at him. Her voice was charming, warm. "If you lose this game,  _oh Lord,_ if you lose… This little career you're so proud of,  _gone_. The child who put this paint on your shirt before you left home,  _gone_. The wife that gave life to this child, poor woman,  _gone._  This life you think you're controlling,  _gone_.

\- You… You…

\- I ? I ?" She laughed uncontrollably.  _Hannibal will get me out of here !_ Her heart was laughing, her mind was laughing, everything was laughing at the whole situation. "I'm not alone, John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland. I have never been."


	6. 3

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

**3**

Hannibal's office was of the luxury type – she couldn't get used to it. The leather couches were, a thick carpet of the most beautiful turquoise, paintings on every walls... And those incredible bookshelves in the mezzanine – psychiatric books, of course, but not only. There were French books, even some French  _legal books._ She had joked about it with him, in occasions. And it was always warm, especially when it was freezing outside. Somehow, it had become one of her favourite places.

But she wasn't there to enjoy the decorum. She was there to arrest its owner. Will, next to her, looked incredibly relaxed.  _Hannibal is going to notice – he must have noticed already._ She gritted her teeth, trying to listen to what they were saying. She couldn't. The only thing she could hear was her blood rushing and throbbing at her ears.

"Andrea ?" she finally heard. It was him. "Are you alright ? You seem quite… Distressed.

\- I… I don't feel well.

\- Do you want to splash a bit of water on your face ?

\- If it doesn't bother you, Doctor.

\- Please." He smiled and gestured her. "You know the way."

She nodded and stood up. She didn't look at Will and went straight to the door that joined his apartment to his office. The atmosphere went from this cosy, incredibly nice place to a colder one. It was still fancy, just in a different way.  _Looks like him,_ she realized while searching for the bathroom. One shiny, warm face. Another darker, colder.

The bathroom itself was so clean that it almost looked as if he never used it. Everything was shining, gleaming under the crude neon light. She glared at her reflection while she ran a bit of water, trying not to catch his attention. She was pale, and it wasn't just the light. She looked scared.  _I'm going to ruin everything._

Almost on tip-toe, she went back to the corridor and went straight to the dining-room/kitchen. This, too, was too clean. She gulped and found the book. It felt like desecrating some sacred altar, but she opened it. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she feared for a second she collapse in the middle of the dining room, this god-forsaken recipe book in the hands. She took a deep breath  and went through the pages.  _Nothing. God, nothing._ She gritted her teeth. She was going to give up when she found a bookmark.  _Les ris de veau sont considérés comme les plus délicats des abats blancs de boucherie…_ And just above, in his beautiful and thin writing,  _Sweetbreads._ She didn't need the translation to know what is was about. She breathed deeply and took her phone.  _Got it,_ she typed. And sent. She took a photograph of the book and put it back. And slowly walked back to the office.

And she heard noises – rattles, muffled noises as if a chair had fallen on a carpet. Her heart froze. She took her gun out of its holster and opened the door. What she saw –  _god, what I saw,_ was part of the things she wished she could erase from her memory. Will was standing, his back turned, but he was stuck in place. On the carpet, his chair was knocked over. And a red puddle was slowly forming around his feet. Hannibal was facing him – and her, as it comes. His hand was hidden by Will's body but she knew he was holding a knife and that this knife was stuck inside Will's chest. She raised her gun. He didn't move. But his eyes were all over her.  _This is what the Ripper looks like._

"It was a decent plan," he said, calmly. "But you, on the other hand, are not a good conspirator, Andrea.

\- I was so blind.

\- In your defence, I worked very hard to blind you.

\- Andrea, shoot him !" Will uttered. He was gurgling. "Don't let him get in your mind.

\- Stay blind. Hide from this. I have no plans to call on you, Andrea."

She shook her head and walked toward them. Blood was flowing from Will's wound, he was beginning to slouch in Hannibal's arms. Her hands were not shivering. Somehow, her mind was clearer than ever. Suddenly, he took the knife off and Will fell down like a rag doll. She ran to catch him and only managed to prevent his head from hitting the floor. Her gun was still in her hands. Soon, blood was on her hands too. His eyes were becoming opaque. His hands were searching for her – for Hannibal, maybe.

_He's behind me._ She spun round to face him and raised her gun again. He still had the knife in his hand.  _Linoleum knife,_ she recognised.  _I have to shoot him. I have to stop him from causing further harm._ What she couldn't see, though, was that the gravest harm he did was to her.

"I will kill you if you stay.

\- You won't," she retorted with so little strength that she sounded like a child. "I won't let you.

\- Remarkable girl. What will you do ? Shoot me with this little toy of yours ?" He smiled. Didn't move the slightest. "What was the last time you saw a dead body, Andrea ? Was it your parents' ? Your brother's ?

\- Shut up. I'm not having any of your bullshit anymore." She put her finger on the trigger. "You're over.

\- I think I'll eat your heart, sweet thing."

She didn't have time to react – it took him a second to dash on her. The gun fired and jumped from her hands, destroying the ceiling light that broke into hundreds of little scraps of glass and rained on them. She screamed when he pushed her against the wall, but she managed to dodge the knife, only to feel her arm burning. She yelped when the knife pierced her shoulder. All she could see were those two eyes, like two pools of maroon ink. And she was drowning in it. Her knees went weak but he caught her. She tried to say something, anything, but all she could see was him.  _Does death look like him ?_

But then she was on the floor, half collapsed on Hannibal's chest. She never heard the second shot. She never heard the third or the fourth either. With an ultimate effort, she rolled on the floor and saw Will, against the wall, her gun in his hands, a phone in the other.

"Eat that," he murmured before losing consciousness.

She whined his name, then tried to crawl to him. Someone was speaking on the other side – asking what was going on. She tried to hold back her tears and took the phone. Her hands were covered in blood. Her vision was reddened.

"We're in… Hannibal Lecter's office, we need… We…

\- Don't quit, I'm sending ambulances. What happened ?

\- There's so much… Blood… I'm not…

\- Ma'am ?"

She yelped when the knife fell from her wound. And the only thing she could see was Hannibal, staring straight at her. This picture too would be carved in her memory until her very death. Because he was smiling. Because his eyes were glowing. She shed a single tear that rolled on her cheeks. It felt like a long burn.

And then it felt like nothing and it was over.


End file.
